


Life, Love, and Lenses

by LilianRoses



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Art, Ballet, Ballet Dancer Katsuki Yuuri, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Dancing, Fluff, M/M, Photography
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-10-08 08:10:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10382307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilianRoses/pseuds/LilianRoses
Summary: Viktor Nikiforov is a famous photographer whose work has been showcased in galleries around the world. Yuuri Katsuki is a poor college student who dances ballet to take his mind off of the stress of everyday life. When the two cross paths, sparks fly, magic happens, and it's all captured on camera.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Comments keep me motivated and leave me feeling warm and fuzzy inside! Please leave one! ^v^/

\-----

 Viktor Nikiforov was having an internal crisis of epic porportions. 

 

He had looked over previous portfolios of his, examined other artists' work, and had even started walking down the street hoping for some bright spark. But he just couldn't seem to find inspiration. When he had first broken in to the photography scene, his case was unusual in the fact that he was accepted readily. His photos told stories of love without needing difinite subjects. It was up to the viewer how the story unfolded, and that 'surprise factor' had made him quite popular. But one could only surprise their audience for so long. His art had been displayed on three continents, he'd participated in dozens of shows, and now his own cynicism was banging on the door of his apartment demanding that he put his camera down for good. 

 

_Damn it._

 

Makkachin whined at her owner's distress. He put on a smile for her sake, rubbing the large, brown poodle behind her ears.

 

"I'm fine,  _милый_ (dear). Why don't we go for a quick evening stroll, hm?"

 

Makkachin perked up immediately at the promise of outside. Viktor smiled more genuinely. Makka always managed to cheer him up; this was just what he needed. All he had to do was take his mind off of his artist's block for an hour or two. But he still grabbed his camera, though.

 

(Just in case.)

\-----

It was truly almost spring. The chill of winter was trying its hardest to fight to maintain its hold, but it would simply not be deterred. He was grateful that the warm rain had won out over the freezing snow this time; he hadn't needed his heavy coat.

 

(He winced at the amount of mud Makka was no doubt going to track back into the loft, however.)

 

Students from the college campus nearby were hustling and bustling past him left and right, and Viktor felt a twinge of nostalgia. He remembered his days there as a photography major, before he realised that it was nothing like what he'd expected. They had put strict guidelines on what exactly he could and could not turn in, and he had kicked that to the curb. It had worked out for him in the end, though, so his counselors  _hadn't_ known what they were talking about. 

 

He snapped a few photos just because. He was clicking through them when one caught his eye, and held it. That was something that hadn't happened in quite literally almost four months. A young man stood out against the crowd of other students. He was a little on the short side, and had a mop of dark, messy hair curled around his ears. He was also plumper than your conventional model, but that almost made him seem more...unique than other photographer's subjects.

 

Viktor's head whipped back and forth searching for him. Luck was on his side when he caught him entering a building a few blocks down. 

 

He had to get a closer look.

\-----

He had left Makka at home the next night. He didn't know if animals were allowed into the building, and he couldn't let his inspiration get away from him. He apologized profusely to his dog in his mind once more, and resolved to pick her up some treats later.

 

(But for now, he had more important things to focus on.)

 

The building had turned out to be a dance studio.  _Minako's,_ the sign read. He hoped that his mystery man was in there. Viktor was aware that his actions could possibly come off as a bit stalker-esque, but he was an artist going through a slump. He was desperate, and willing to do pretty much anything at this point. So he tightened the grip on his camera and hip-checked the door. It was unlocked, and so the photographer slipped inside.The wood floors creaked a little under his weight as he scanned the area. No sight of him. But there was a light on at the end of the hallway. Viktor silently cheered. _There he was._ He hustled over to the doorway, and crouched low. 

 

And promptly had the breath knocked out of him.

 

The young man was unaware of his presence, and was obliviously tying his slippers. His glasses were missing from his face as well. Overall, he looked like an almost completely different person than who he saw yesterday. He took a photo.  _Decent,_ but what he wouldn't give for a shot of his eyes...

\-----

Katsuki Yuuri stretched out his quads, thinking absently about the English assignment he'd turned in a few hours earlier. It hadn't  _felt_ like his best work, but both Phichit and Leo had assured him that it was fine. He'd been worrying about it for almost two weeks (on top of his various  _other_ assignments). But thank the heavens, Minako, a family friend (who owned a dance studio where Yuuri had been practising since he was young), had given him basically free-reign of her building. So long as he didn't leave any trash behind or scuff the floors, he was allowed to dance there to his heart's content.

 

This kept him mostly sane in his manic life. Compunded with his struggle against anxiety, he needed all of the peace and zen he could get.

 

He absent-mindedly spun once...twice...thrice on his way over to the speakers. He had found a cover of Lady Gaga's  _Applause,_ and had been choreographing a routine for it for about a month. Piano music mixed with viola, and the smooth tenor urged him into motion. Minako had told him that it was a shame that his _bravura_ would never see the light of day. He didn't think so. It wasn't as though he was a pro or anything. He just matched his dancing to the music, is all. He ticked off the positions and movements in his head in  _adagio_ timing. Then came his rotations, quicker and quicker...

\-----

Viktor watched in awe as the dancer whipped around and around, eyes closed. He didn't seem to be struggling for breath at all, despite the song seemingly coming to an end. He had never taken so many photos so quickly in succession before. But every moment this dancer performed seemed like it was just  _destined_ to be documented. And Viktor had made it his job to do so. Part of him still felt guilty about taking his photo without permission, but he didn't feel guilty enough to delete them. The music did come to an end, and so did the _danseur_ 's routine. He took this as his cue to leave. And if he sat on his couch and stared at the dozens of photos he had taken that night, well, he was the only one who knew.

 

His heart sank when he realized that he didn't even know his muse's name.

\-----

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make me happy! Please leave me one! ^v^/

\-----

Christophe frowned at his friend. His eyes held an air of near-hysteria that he wasn't sure he liked.

 

He had invited him out to coffee to take his mind off of his photography for a second, but it didn't look as though Viktor was going to make like Elsa and  _'let it go'_ anytime soon. He'd thumped an album of sorts down in front of him, and it was full of photos of one dancer. They were organized by routine, and the only reason he could tell the difference was the variance in outfits. But it was obvious that the first group was the most precious to the photographer.

 

He had to admit that he was almost a little jealous.

 

He'd been Viktor's model for a good three years before he'd come to him and bluntly told him that he was finished with him. Viktor had a desire to surprise his audience, and they were too used to seeing him at this point. He'd almost had a fit before he realized that he'd developed feelings along the way.  _That_ had been a disaster in the making. But he was over it now; he was seeing a new guy that didn't even mind that his job as a professional model required that he pose near-naked on a regular basis. But then he noticed something that he had to ask about.

 

"Um. Viktor?"

"Yes?"

"Why are there no photos of him making eye-contact with you?"

 

Viktor went suspiciously silent. Chris stared him down.

 

"Viktor.  _Please_ tell me that you haven't been doing what I think you've been doing."

"Listen. He might not be  _fully_ aware that I've been taking his picture..."

 

Christophe glared.

 

" _Viktor._ As a professional model, I can't condone this. You're invading his privacy! You know that you've technically been wasting your time then, right? You can't put these in a show or booklet if he's not even aware of his participation."

 

Viktor glared back.

 

"I  _know,_ Chris. But this will  _never_ be a waste of time. I haven't had this desire to take photos for a long time. I'd thought I lost the feeling that made me want to become a photographer in the first place. It's just become a constant stream of shows, competitions, books, and empty expectations. There's no  _joy_ anymore; no excitement to just make art. This dancer, though. He just... _lives._ He _does what he loves_ without any desire for outside recognition. And...I don't even really want to put these in a show or booklet, anyway."

 

Chris sipped his coffee.

 

"I hope you know what you're doing, Viktor."

"I just want him to teach me, Chris."

"You don't even have his name."

"And it pains me everyday."

 

Chris had never seen Viktor like this. He hoped it would all work out for him.

\-----

Yuri scowled. His cousin was a fucking idiot.

 

Yakov had sent him to this moron because he was supposedly the best at what he did. His photos held  _'emotion' ,_ or some shit that his art was apparantly lacking. Viktor had hugged him, complaining about how he didn't visit  _nearly_ often enough, and ushered him towards the couch while he made coffee, and hot cocoa for Yuri because  _'he was still growing'._ He apologized for the mess of the coffee table, but asked him not to disturb any of his photos. He was going to put those in an album, and was in the middle of the task when he'd arrived.

 

(At least his dog was fucking cute. He was definitely a cat person, but still. Makka had done nothing wrong.)

 

It was as he was scratching Makka behind her ears that he noticed the similarities of all the photos on the table. His eyes widened, and he couldn't hold in a shriek.

 

"What the  _fuck, Viktor?!_ Why do you have photos of Piggy all over your damn coffee table?!"

 

Thumps were heard, as well as a crash as something (no doubt a mug) hit the floor. Soon Viktor was huffing in the doorway of the kitchen, eyes wide.

 

"Y-you  _know_ him?"

 

Yuri didn't know whether to be angry or disturbed. Disturbed was winning by a fraction.

 

"Y-yeah, I do! His fat ass is my ballet instructor's  _'prodigy'._ But he won't dance in any shows, because of anxiety or some shit."

"What's his name?!"

"Yuuri. Yuuri Katsuki. But he told me the last name comes first in Japan, so it's actually Katsuki Yuuri? Whatever. He's fat, so I call him Piggy."

 

Viktor could have cried. Yuuri Katsuki. He had a name. He finally had a damn  _name._

 

"Yuri. I need you to introduce us."

\-----

Lilia Baronovskaya was an intimidating woman. She was apparantly a former prima ballerina, and seemed unimpressed with his overall existance. His status as a world-famous photographer did nothing to endear him to her. Yuri wasn't helping by standing next to him, snickering.

 

"And just what do you want with my best student? He's in the middle of practice."

"I-I just wanted to meet him, and introduce myself-"

" _He's in the middle of practice._ Where  _Yuri_ should be as well. Your form is still _quite_ stiff,  _подчиненный_ (inferior; junior or dependent)."

 

Yuri immediately stopped laughing and sulked. Viktor tried one more time.

 

"Please! I'll never bother him during practice again! I just need to speak with him as soon as possible-"

 

Yuri (who was still sour-faced) jerked a thumb in his direction.

 

"He's not going to drop it,  _преподаватель_ (teacher or instructor). Just let him talk to Pi- _Yuuri_ so he'll get lost already."

 

Lilia's lips pursed. She obviously wasn't fond of him, still. But she motioned for him to follow.

 

"This will be the only time you interrupt his practice, am I clear? And you are to be changed and on the  _barre_ in no more than five minutes, Yuri Plisetsky."

 

(Viktor was reminded of his mother.)

 

"Yes, ma'am."

"Yeah, yeah,  _преподаватель_. Whatever."

 

(He still hurried to get changed, though.)

\-----

Yuuri (his muse had a  _name_!) was even more beautiful in full light. Rather than the sweats and a T-shirt he had seen him practice in previously, he was in a crop-top and leggings. It  _was_ warmer in here than it was in the other dance studio. He wondered why. He was moving simply, yet fluidly along to a classical piece. He was like water running over rocks; natural and languid. He felt an itch to snap a photo, but stamped it down. That was why he was here.

 

(And he didn't have his camera anyway, to avoid temptation. So.)

 

Lilia clapped twice crisply, and Yuuri halted in position. Although his body remained in crisp _arabesque p_ _enché_  form, his auburn eyes turned towards her immediately, as if awaiting instructions.

 

"You're doing well,  _высший_  (superior; senior student). But there is a man here to speak with you."

 

Yuuri seemed to notice him for the first time, and looked straight at him while returning to a normal standing position. Viktor could have died on the spot. His eyes, they were  _beautiful,_ he'd wanted to see them for  _ages,_ _damn it,_ he didn't have his  _camera-_

 

"V-Viktor Nikiforov? W-Why do you need to speak with me?"

 

Viktor took a deep breath. It was now or never.

 

"I'm glad you've heard of me, Yuuri! I'm putting together a new portfolio, and I'd be honored if you would be my model and muse."

\-----

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

\-----

Viktor tapped his finger nervously on the table in front of him. He knew he was at  _least_ fifteen minutes early, but he was excited, okay?

 

Yuuri Katsuki, an over-achiever double-majoring in psychology and sociology, had looked ready to drop unconscious when he had asked for permission to photograph him. Apparently he was a huge fan of his, and hadn't expected for  _the_ Viktor Nikiforov to show up out of nowhere and ask him to be the subject of his latest portfolio. Yuri had stared at him with a tangible aura of disgust and homicidal rage eminating from him. Lilia had glared at him (and it felt frostier than freezing wind), and informed him that if all he was going to do was disrupt her student's practice and distract him, then he needed to leave.  _Immediately._ Yuuri had snapped out of his shocked daze at that, and had cautiously offered his phone number so that they could schedule a meeting to talk about this. He had nodded enthusiastically, and they exchanged numbers.

 

(Viktor had later called Chris to gush about how his muse was (possibly) going to actually be modeling for him, and Yuuri had called his friend Phichit to scream about how Viktor Fucking Nikiforov had asked to photograph him. Both then had to assure their best friends that, no, this was not a date.)

 

But back to the present. Viktor had invited Yuuri out to coffee that Saturday morning, which Yuuri had agreed to. So now he was waiting, camera and examples of his previous work in his bag, for his muse to appear. Hopefully, to accept his request that he model for him. Yuuri showed up around five minutes later, looking more adorable than anyone who could dance like could had any right to. Yuuri gifted him with a nervous, apologetic smile, fiddling with his glasses, and Viktor felt his heart race.

 

"Sorry! I hope you weren't waiting long..."

"Oh, no, no! I just got here myself-"

 

Lie.

 

"-Anyway. Have a seat, order something! I'm buying."

 

Yuuri looked a little troubled. It was sort of odd; normally people just assumed he was buying because of how much money he made.

 

"I can't ask you to do that-"

"Yuuri. You're a college student. I'm an internationally-known photographer. Just pick something, and let me pay for it, okay?"

 

That silenced Yuuri, although he still narrowed his eyes.

 

"...Listen, Viktor. I'm flattered that you want me to dance for your photos-"

"Not flattered enough for you to accept, it sounds like."

 

Viktor felt his heart break into eighths. His muse, his inspiration; gone. Just like that. 

 

"-but I think you should consider a different dancer. Lilia has other students. Even your cousin is one."

"I don't want another dancer. I want  _you._ "

 

Yuuri went red, and it was unfairly adorable.

 

"But I don't have any proper experience when it comes to performing. I only practice under Lilia; my last attempt at dancing on stage was years ago, and ended in disaster."

"But I'm not looking for that, Yuuri. I'm looking for what you have: emotion. _Life_."

"...Life?"

 

Viktor hadn't planned on showing Yuuri these, because they made him seem a little creepy, but he had to show him what he meant. He pulled out the notorious album (choosing to ignore the wear that had developed on the spine from being opened so often), and pushed it towards Yuuri without a word. Yuuri looked at him confused, but opened it anyway. His face immediately went red, and Viktor felt an unfamiliar heat as blood pooled in his own cheeks. He knew what he was looking at. Snapshot after snapshot recording at least four different routines, all of which were painstakingly organized into a story of sorts. 

 

" _That's_ what I'm looking for, Yuuri. Sure, other dancers can don the fancy outfits and perform on stage, but you tell a story with your dancing without even meaning to. I'm sorry that I took your photo without asking first, and I'll stop if that's what  _you_ want. But don't you dare sit there and tell me I shouldn't take your photo because it's in  _my_ best interest. It's insulting to both of us."

 

Yuuri fiddled with a page, eyes taking in a picture. He wasn't looking at the camera, but that didn't subtract from it. There was no music, but from his positions and movements, he could tell he was dancing to  _The Greatest_ by Sia. It was an  _allegro_ pacing, and he was smiling. Most would hate the constant jumping around that moving _ballon_ required, but he had always loved dances where he could move around freely without forcing himself to stay slow. They were his favorite, and he had the endurance for them.

 

"I have to tell you, Viktor. I have anxiety. I don't know if I'll be able to replicate these movements knowing you're watching me..."

"That's fine! I'll just have to hang around you until you feel comfortable around me!"

"...What?!"

\-----

When Viktor had said that he'd hang around him until he felt comfortable, he'd meant it.

 

He shadowed him everywhere he went. He didn't have any prior engagements (that he remembered), and he hadn't had the urge to snap photos like this for ages. Soon his apartment was littered with his best shots. Yuri had almost screamed in frustration and horror when he'd walked through the door and seen his rival plastered on almost every available surface of his cousin's loft. Chris had whistled, and Mila had blinked, thinking that the previous two were exaggerating about his obsession.

 

"What the ever-loving  _fuck,_ Viktor?! Does Piggy know about this?!"

"Hm? Uh, maybe?"

"You've impressed me, Viktor. I didn't think it was possible for someone to take this many photos in one week."

"It  _is_ a bit much, huh? But I told myself that I would only develop the best ones, but then I couldn't choose, because they were all amazing, so pretty soon I had just developed a good chunk of them-"

"I thought Yuri and Chris were _kidding_ , Viktor. This is...excessive."

"But,  _Mila-"_

 

Viktor's phone vibrated, and he looked at the text message with widened eyes.

 

 _"Shit._ Shit, he's coming over here, he can't see these, help me put them away-"

"What the fuck do you mean he's coming over here? Why does he have your fucking address?"

"He forgot his slippers in my camera bag when we went out for hot chocolate after a shoot last week. And I gave it to him in case I ever wanted him to model here,  _damn it,_ why did I print all of these fuckers, why aren't you  _helping me-"_

 

 

The trio had never seen Viktor Nikiforov in such a state. He was normally rather laid-back and irritatingly easy-going. They didn't even think they'd heard him swear that much in one sentence before. Chris decided to have mercy on him and started helping him pick them up. Viktor made a noise like he was physically in pain.

 

"Don't  _crumple them,_ Chris!"

"We don't have time for this, Viktor!"

 

Mila's eyebrows scrunched together, but she too aided Viktor in gathering the photographs.

 

"Why does it matter if he sees them? He knows you're taking pictures of him, right?"

 

Yuri snorted.

 

"Because he won't be able to fucking explain to Piggy why they're all laying and hanging around his loft. Creepy fuck."

"If I creep him out he won't model for me anymore! And I can't lose my muse, Mila, and  _stop fucking crumpling them,_ Chris, I know you're doing that on purpose-"

"Me?  _Never."_

 

_\-----_

Yuuri knocked on the door of Viktor's apartment, looking around. The building in-and-of itself was obviously not a place for poor college students. It had a private elevator that led to his front door, and he was pretty sure one month's rent would cover an entire year's worth of his college tuition, including books. He knocked again, and Viktor threw the door open, looking oddly out of breath. 

 

 _"Yuuri!_ What a pleasant surprise!"

"...I texted you, though..."

 

Viktor grimaced.

 

"Ah, yes. Right. Anyway, come in, come in! Coffee, tea?"

"Oh, nothing for me. I just need my shoes, I'm on the way to Minako's-"

"YES, of course, those are in my camera bag. Let me just go get those for you."

 

He indicated that he should take a seat, and he did. Yuuri noticed that the other Yuri, as well as two other people, were in the lounge as well. The older man smiled lavisciously, and Yuuri was starstruck. That was Christophe Giacometti, the famous model. He'd appeared in several of Viktor's works in his earlier years. And Mila Babicheva, the actress. He was pretty sure he was quaking by now.

 

"Oh, isn't he just  _darling._ He's even cuter in person."

"I agree, Chris. He looks younger with his glasses on. He always looks more mature in Viktor's photos..."

"Stop projecting, you old hag."

 

Yuri swore as Mila grabbed him into a head-lock without losing her smile.

 

"Come on over, honey. We don't bite."

"I'll just sit over here-"

 

He shot back up as he felt something crunch underneath him, and the others tensed.

 

"What the-"

 

He lifted the cushion off of the chair he had sat on, and blinked, shocked, before going red.

 

"W-what?! When did he even-"

"Yuuri! Here are your slippers-"

 

Viktor froze, looking on in horror and despair, as Yuuri stared at his face, photographed _easily_ at least thirty seperate times.

 

"I can completely explain this."

 

Yuri snorted.

\-----

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own none of the songs Yuuri dances to. Listen to them though; they're great! Comments make me feel giddy inside! Please leave one! ^v^/

\-----

Viktor pursed his lips as he watched Yuuri move without his knowledge. His dancing wasn't as fluid as it usually was. He sighed and pushed himself away from the wall. This was all his fault. He hadn't considered how Yuuri would feel about this at all. And he'd even told him about his issues with anxiety when they'd first started out. 

 

Perhaps an explanation was in order.

 

Just a few days ago, he'd explained the massive amount of photos of Yuuri _to_ Yuuri by saying they were for an event. He had announced his submission for an upcoming art show: the _On Love Series._ It would star Yuuri Katsuki at his most graceful, amazing, and lively. His portfolio would tell a story of three different types of love one feels throughout their lifetime: _agape, philia,_ and  _eros_. He had  _thought_ Yuuri would be ecstatic about it. The world would finally get to see what a talented  _danseur_ he was; he'd get the respect he deserved.

 

Yuuri had most definitely _not_ been ecstatic. He'd began furiously practicing his routines, but nothing seemed to be satisfying him.  _Philia_ hadn't taken much effort; it was a brotherly love between companions. He'd decided to dance to  _Renegades_ by the X Ambassadors.  _Agape_ was a step further, being an unconditional love. But Yuuri had risen to the challenge, and after some effort, chosen _Wish You Were Here_ by Florence and the Machine. But _Eros_ was giving him major difficulty. He couldn't seem to translate it into footwork the way he wanted, and he was growing steadily more frustrated by the day. Since the previous two had been eventually conquered, Viktor hadn't thought  _Eros_ would be very difficult. _Eros_ was sexual, erotic love, something he figured a male college student would be familiar with. He had asked Yuuri why he was making it so difficult to get a shot of it. 

 

He'd even gone so far as to (foolishly) comment that he'd actually thought it'd be the easiest. Now, he _expected_ Yuuri to throw a barb back about how they couldn't all be world-famous playboys. He poked at Yuuri's heart, asking (in what he _thought_ was a joking tone) if he maybe needed to find another muse. He really thought the worst he'd get was a glare, and maybe even a newfound determination.

 

**_Big mistake._ **

 

Yuuri had stared at him in horror, and soon tears began to roll down his cheeks. He still remembered the choked words that had turned into sobbed screams.

 

_"Why would you say something like that? Like you're trying to test me? This is already harder than ever, because what I do reflects on you! I need you to have faith in me, because I don't have it in myself!"_

 

Viktor had panicked as the tell-tale signs of an anxiety attack had shaken Yuuri to near pieces. He had managed to calm him somewhat, but Yuuri had slapped away his hand as if it had scalded him. Yuuri had refused to dance in front of him for almost two weeks while he 'perfected' his routines. He hadn't known what he'd said or done. At least, at first. Then Yuuri's friend Phichit had pretty much kidnapped him, and forced him to explain the reason behind Yuuri's odd behavior. When Viktor finished his story, Phichit had sighed into his tea.

 

(He was sort of glad they hadn't gone to the cafe near  _Minako's._ That was his and Yuuri's place. Don't judge him.)

 

"You really don't get it, do you? Yuuri doesn't  _have_ any experience with  _eros._ Not only is he a virgin, he's never even had a serious relationship that I know of. His only romantic interest friend-zoned him _epically_  as a kid. He found out as a teen that he was gay, which uprooted his lifestyle and ideology. Not to mention his issues with his self-confidence."

"But that's what I don't understand. He's a brilliant dancer. Why does he have so little self-esteem?"

"You  _wouldn't_ get it, Viktor. You haven't been through what he has. I'm not going to give you the gritty details, but he did poorly in a performance once, and he hasn't been able to embrace the stage ever since. He's tried."

 

Viktor felt awful. What was he making Yuuri  _do?_

 

"And you're not going to be able to call it off now, either. He's got an idea in his head that  _your_ success is tied to  _his_ performance. So telling him that it's over isn't going to do anything but shatter his fragile little glass heart. And then Leo, Huang-Gong, and I would have to murder you."

 

Of course they would.

 

"All you can do is let this play out. Have faith in him, don't let him self-destruct, and hold on tight. I think he's going to surprise  _you,_ Nikiforov."

\-----

Viktor sat in a chair in the front row of the auditorium. His camera felt like it weighed two-hundred pounds.

 

Phichit, Leo, and Huang-Gong were there to support their friend. Yuuri had also let Viktor invite Chris and Mila as well. Yuri's friend Otabek was present also. Lilia sat a few seats down from him, and he could only pray that she didn't put any more pressure on Yuuri than he probably already felt. Yuuri had revealed that the reason he was being so secretive about his routines was that he'd actually accepted an invitation from an international dance company to perform in their exhibition (alongside Yuri), under Lilia's recommendation. He wasn't the only one performing, but he would have a solo block where he'd perform his three _On Love_ routines, as well as one more routine he'd actually been choreographing since he was a young teen.

 

Viktor had hugged him tight before the performance, telling him that he was so,  _so_ proud of his inner strength. He was facing a fear that he'd had for the majority of his life, and he'd always admire him for that. And that no matter what, the photos he'd taken of him would always be his best work. Yuuri had hugged him back just as fiercely, and demanded that Viktor not take his eyes off of him.

 

(As if he could.)

 

He watched with a bouncing leg as Yuuri's turn approached, creeping closer and closer. He applauded after every dancer finished, although none of them could match _his_ dancer, in his mind. He had jumped to his feet and cheered after Yuri's routine (a dramatic, modern performance to _Centuries_ by Fall Out Boy), and Yuri had gone red, making his way off stage muttering about  _"embarassing assholes"_. 

 

And then it was Yuuri's turn.

 

He'd chosen  _agape_ first. The music was slow, steady, and a little haunting: the definition of _adagio_. He moved around the stage like a whisper; soft and light. He looked as though he'd float right off the floor if he tried hard enough. There was a term for it, Yuuri had told him... _ballon._ That was it. He froze in the middle of an  _attitude en avant,_ and the music ended. In two minutes he'd changed outfits, trading the white leotard and tights for a dark blue suit of sorts with silver embellishments. Viktor smiled as the audience gasped; he'd expected no less from Yuuri. 

 

 _Philia'_ s music was more energetic than  _agape'_ s. Yuuri's footwork matched the drums perfectly, and Viktor knew how much effort Yuuri put in to maintain the pace. Strong, dependable, and steady, just like an ideal friend should be. He wasn't showing any outward exhaustion, but even with his endurance it had to be straining. A quick  _fouette,_ and then...Viktor froze as the song ended. He knew what was type of love was next, but he didn't know what music was accompanying it. For once, he was just as surprised as the audience. He found that he didn't mind.

 

But when the next song started, he sucked in a breath. He remembered this music. This music had started it all. The audience seemed just as surprised at the drastic change in the pace of the music. But Viktor knew this music better than any of them, he was sure of it. The midnight-black, form-fitting, suit-clad figure knew this as well. He shot him a smirk.

 

 _Applause,_ sung by Sam Tsui.

 

This song screamed  _eros._ The sultry tone, smooth voice, and dramatic pacing paired with Yuuri's twists, spins, and seductive movements seemed to call out to him. He had risen from his seat before he could stop himself, camera at the ready. Being able to see Yuuri's eyes made the experience just that much better. Yuuri moved like a beautiful woman, and not even the playboy was safe from his wiles. If regular Yuuri was shy, timid, and lacked confidence,  _this_ Yuuri was  _aplomb,_ seductive, and confidence personified. 

 

_'You know you want me.'_

 

_He **did.**_

 

When those three-and-a-half minutes of wonderful torture were over, all that was left was Yuuri's composition. It was apparently entitled  _Yuri on Stage,_ and told the story of Yuuri's developing dance career. It was purposefully simplistic in the beginning; slow, and somewhat unsure. But as it went on, the movements became more complex and bolder. The tempo increased, and Yuuri moved quicker to match. Viktor knew Yuuri had to be dead on his feet almost, but he watched as he put his all into his life story. The song ended with Yuuri reaching out towards him. His auburn eyes were wide and frightened, but determined. He realized what these feelings were flying around inside him. He loved this man. This brilliant, humble, modest, astounding, amazing  _danseur_ had captured his heart. 

 

He gave a watery smile, and took the picture.

\-----

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue to come next!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a quick little epilogue explaining just what exactly happened afterwards. Comments make me feel pure joy! Please leave one! ^v^/

\-----

"And then I lift up the chair cushion and there are literally  _dozens_ of photos of me-"

"Oh, come on. I wouldn't say  _dozens-"_

" _Vitya._ There had to have been at _least_ thirty stuffed under there."

 

Viktor grimaced into his wine, and the other couple laughed. They were currently at an art show, and these two had just bought one of his works for an almost ludicrous amount of money. But people had been enamoured by his  _On Love Series,_ though ( _Eros_ was his most popular collection by far), and that most likely had everything to do with his now-husband. Yuuri Katsuki-Nikiforov had stunned the world by becoming a world-class  _danseur noble_ while still earning his psychology and sociology degrees. His dancing helped people find their own ' _life and love',_ according to his smitten husband. Viktor watched them leave before pouting towards Yuuri.

 

"Why do you  _always_ have to tell that story?"

"It keeps the balance between us."

"What do you mean?"

"I blush easier than you, so I have to have  _something_ to throw you off-kilter."

 

Viktor chuckled, and wound an arm around his fiance's waist.

 

"People never suspect you to be so devious, Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov."

"Me? Devious? I would  _never,_ Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov."

 

Before Viktor could drag his husband (he'd _never_ get tired of saying that) away and find somewhere to neck like teenagers, they were (rather rudely) interrupted by his cousin.

 

" _Oi._ Stop with the gross-ass PDA. No one wants to see that shit."

"Well, actually,  _I-"_

 

Chris' husband pinched him. He rubbed the abused spot with a pout on his face.

 

"Ow!  _Rude._ "

 

Yuri ignored him, still glaring at the Katsuki-Nikiforov's. He had focused on his dancing, rather than taking the traditional route of college, and was now one of the youngest  _dansuers_ in the Bolshoi Ballet Academy. Otabek Altin, now a professional ice-skater and his boyfriend, was very supportive of his demanding lifestyle.

 

"Seriously. You'd think you two were high-schoolers the way you can't keep your hands off of each other."

"Well, Yuuri's  _eros_ is incredibly attractive-"

 

Yuuri went red at the mention of his  _Eros_ routine. He still couldn't believe that he had performed that. Viktor had all but attacked him the minute they had entered his apartment. He kept his costume, as well.

 

(Not that they'd gone very far that night. Viktor had been correct in his assumption that Yuuri was exhausted both mentally and physically. It had taken him almost three days to fully recover.)

 

Phichit, ever the troll, couldn't help himself. He had become possibly _the most_  prominent young party-planner in Thailand, and thanks to his social media presence, his influence had spread worldwide. Hamsters were now a  _thing,_ somehow.

 

"I wouldn't be hypocritical, Yuuri. Weren't you an enormous Nikiforov fan when we were in college?"

 

Viktor perked up, while Yuuri contemplated the best method to silence his (ex) best-friend.

 

"Oh,  _really?_ You were a fan of mine,  _моя любовь_ (my love)?"

"Totally. He had every book with your work in it, and posters from literally every shoot you'd ever done."

 

Yuuri glared at his husband.

 

"That was before I learned what a drama king you are, and that you like mayonnaise on things besides sandwhiches."

 

Viktor kissed the side of his husband's head in apology. Yuuri snuggled into him, accepting his apology wordlessly. Yuri wrinkled his nose, and Phichit took a picture for Instagram.

 

"You two are so fucking disgusting."

"They get me so many new followers, though.  _#victuuri_ is legit still trending, and they're  _married_ now."

"You're a social media whore."

"Don't hate because I have more followers than you."

 

(Otabek took Yuri's hand before he could rip Phichit a new one. That would be bad.)

 

Yuuri shook his head at his friend's ridiculousness, and looked over at Vitya's latest work. He didn't think he'd ever get used to seeing himself on that scale. But he had to admit his husband was talented. He had captured him in motion; the blur intentional to show his change in position. He looked...happy. He didn't think he'd be able dance _happily_ if he embraced fame. But then Vitya had barged into his life, and together they managed to prove that you could do what you love and be famous at the same time. They just needed each other, and it had all worked out.

 

_Life and love indeed._

_\-----_

END. 

 


End file.
